Blood
by Love Like Homicide
Summary: Mike tries to prove that he's a real vampire, and ends up making the biggest mistake of his life. Not knowing where else to turn he counts on Michael to save him from the consequences. EXTREMELY mild Michael/Mike at the end


**This took longer to write than it should have, so hopefully that means it's good.**

 **I couldn't decide whether or not to keep the pairing in or not, since it doesn't really fit with the rest of the story, so I've put the extended ending at the bottom. You can choose whether you want them to get gay (in a romantic way) or not.**

* * *

Cigarettes in hands and scarfs wrapped around their pale necks, the Goth quartet wander through the nearly empty parking lot. While approaching the dirty glass door they squint at the obnoxious fluorescence light radiating from the other side, something they should be used to by now. They used to meet at the Village Inn almost every night, however that had changed in the past few months. It had been expected though; naturally meeting up would get harder now that Michael, the eldest member, has started Middle School.

Henrietta freezes in the doorway, prompting Michael to hit her back and Firkle to hit his. Pete was smart enough to notice this pattern and walk around the girl. 'You've got to be kidding me.' She says, motioning to the side of the café where another black-clad clique is occupying the booths. The size of the clique appears to have doubled since the Goths had last seen them.

'Dammit, there's more of them? Don't they have their own place?' Pete asks, flipping his hair out of his face.

'This is fucking ridiculous.' Michael says, approaching the kids. 'Hey Dracula, what the hell do you think you're doing?'

The boy looks up. 'Why, I am enjoying the full moon in the company of my immortal comrades, per se.'

The Goth rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, whatever, just keep it out of the Village Inn. In case you fags have forgotten, this is our place.'

'My apologies, but we have just as much of a right to be here as any of you. We too prefer using the light of the moon to radiate the darkness of our souls, per se.'

'What the fuck is dark about being a douchy little wannabe vampire who wears plastic fangs?'

'Vampires are much darker than you, feeble human, could ever understand. We're reclusive and nocturnal creatures, which is why we prefer to hunt and feed at night… Per se.'

'You think real vampires hunt by sitting around a cafe drinking tomato juice?'

'As I stated, there is more to us than simply our method of feeding.' Mike retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

'Right, and yet you don't even do that. Let's get one thing straight here, real vampires are Goth as fuck. You, however, are a spineless, wannabe poser who probably can't even handle the taste of his _own_ blood. Now get the fuck out of our booth, or you'll feel the darkness of my foot up your ass.' Michael responds without missing a beat.

Mike sits there for a moment and stares at him, stunned. 'F-fine,' he sputters out, voice rising slightly, 'there're plenty of places around here far more appealing to us children of the night.' He says, getting out of his seat and motioning for his minions to follow him.

'Whatever, fag.' Michael mutters, shrugging. The goths climb into the now empty seats.

Mike is not pleased. Far, far from it. He has spent hours in front of his computer, learning everything he could possibly learn about his current obsession. He's read every book, watched every movie, and even listened to every song related to the vampire subculture. He's done everything he can to make himself as close to the real thing as possible. Well, everything short of drinking another human's blood. He even ignores the heath guidelines and takes his stake extra-rare! And yet here comes Michael, a _Goth_ of all things, telling him that he's a fraud. Despite the problems they've had, up until now Mike had always considered Goths and vamp-kids to be kindred spirits. Both cliques share the same love of candles, Poe, and the colour black; and both are misunderstood by their classmates. He hates to admit it, but Michael's statement genuinely hurt him. He knows he isn't a real vampire, but he'd expected a fellow alternative to at least appreciate his effort.

Now here he is, at the end of his rope, standing beside the local bar and considering taking the final leap into Vampirism. Something he swore he'd never do. There are only a few more minutes left until midnight and the bar is preparing to close. Mike lies in wait, having already decided that the best option for him is to bite someone who's completely wasted. Sure, they probably aren't the healthiest choice, but at least they should be too drunk to put up a fight or identify their attacker in the morning. He heard the tell-tale shouting of the bartender as he tries to usher out the last of his customers for the night. Mike recognises them as some of the local lowlifes; poor bachelors, abusive husbands, and recent divorcees.

Mike set his sights on one man in particular, who is trailing a little bit behind the rest of the group. The further they walk the slower he gets, to the point where he's barely moving. Mike follows him in the shadows, ducking into alleys and behind post boxes wherever he can. At one point the man stops moving completely and puts his head down, closing his eyes as if he's fallen asleep while standing up. The man's sleeping expression remains the same as he stumbles, disoriented, sideways until he's leaning against the wall.

Mike choses this moment to strike. He leaps out of the alleyway he'd been watching from and grabs the man from behind, dragging him into the alley before he even has a chance to react. He pushes the man to the ground and puts one hand over is mouth, using the other to pull down the side of his shirt. He forces his mouth onto the side of man's neck and bites down, not giving himself time to hesitate. He bites as hard as he can and, once enough force is being applied, his fangs pop right through the flesh. Blood starts pouring out, and boy is there a lot of it. Mike cringes at how bitter and metallic it tastes, how thick it is, and the way it's temperature matches almost perfectly with that of the inside of his mouth. He imagines the warmth and texture to be like breast milk. The taste makes him want to gag but he forces himself to swallow it, despite the gurgling in his throat telling him that his body hates it, knowing that that's what real vampires do. He pretends not to know the health risk; he saw a documentary a few weeks ago about a woman who drank human blood regularly, and she seemed fine, so he assures himself that he will be too.

After few minutes Mike decides he's had all he can bear, and enough to prove his point by far, and detaches himself from the man's body. The man falls limp on the concrete, each limb making its own heavy 'clunk', strangled noises escaping his lips and blood gushing from his wound. He stares up at Mike in horror and fear, until his eyes turn dull and glassy. Mike watches in shock. He knows he should do something, but can't will his body to move, and even if he could he doubts he would know what to do. As the wind hits his face he can feel the blood congealing around his mouth and chin, and sees the blood pooling on the pavement has done the same. The bleeding has stopped and the skin is turning whiter than his foundation. Without even having to check, he knows the man is dead.

He has no idea what to do. The metallic taste in his mouth, and the fact he's killed a man, aren't what bother him the most. No. The most terrifying part is that he has no idea how to cover his ass. His DNA is all over the guy's neck and probably _inside_ the wound too, and on top of that the evidence was all down the front of his shirt. He's seen them test clothes for blood on TV, and it worked no matter how much they washed it.

As he panics only one solution comes to mind; Michael. He and his friends have probably seen worse, so he'll know what to do. He just hopes Michael will hear him out. After all, this is at least partially his fault.

Michael growls in annoyance as, for the fifth time that night, a rock is hurled at his window. He hasn't even bothered to check who it is, his friends use the back door and text him when it's locked, so whoever is in his yard has no business being there. As the sixth rock hits his window he throws his journal across the room, deciding that writing is futile, and rolls off of his bed. He storms over to the window, fully prepared to tell whoever is bothering him to _fuck off_ , when he pauses. It's that loud, annoy, faggy wannabe: Mike Makowski. In some weird way he isn't surprised. I mean, who else does he know that is _this_ annoying _and_ unoriginal? Come on, rocks? Really?

He shoves open the window so hard the glass doors bounce off of the walls, emitting a noise which makes Mike visibly cringe. 'What the fuck are doing here, poser?!' Michael demands.

'Shh! Can you keep it down?' Mike says in an impressively loud whisper, jumping from foot to foot as his eyes repeatedly scan the yard for any signs that someone may be listening.

'Are you high?' Michael asks, forcing his voice back into neutrality.

'I need you to come down here, per se.'

'The fuck? No.' Michael says, failing to hide his distain. There's no way he is indulging the drug induced ravings of a vamp-kid.

'Please, Michael? I'm not crazy, I need your help.' Mike's tone is desperate and his hands are clamped together in a pleading position.

Michael rolls his eyes. 'Fine.' He concedes, only to satisfy his own curiosity. 'Make it quick.'

Whatever Mike needs has better be fucking important.

'Yep,' Michael says nonchalantly, lighting up a cigarette, 'he's pretty dead alright.'

'I know that. But what do I do about it?'

'I can mail you back to Scottsdale?' Michael suggests in a completely serious tone. Mike looks appalled.

'I'm not leaving town again! I need _real_ advice!' Mike insists, pulling at his hair anxiously. Michael watches him, one eyebrow raised.

'Well shit, what the fuck do you expect me to do? You got your _saliva_ all over him. It's your own fucking mess.'

'Come on, there has to be something. You're the expert on this death stuff, not me.'

'What happened to "We too prefer using the light of the moon to radiate the darkness of our souls."' Michael recites, using air quotations.

'I just killed someone, what more do you want?!' Mike shrieks, voice cracking slightly. He feels helpless against the tears as they leave his eyes, but does his best to hold back the sobs. No, he won't breakdown in front of Michael. He will not humiliate himself any more than he already has by asking for his help. He rubs his hand against the leg of his jeans to remove the clumps of hair he's pulled out. If there really isn't anything he can do, he'll just have to take it like a man.

A man who is now collapsed in a heap on the bloodied concrete, crying like a baby.

'Oh for fuck sake!' Michael says exasperatedly, making a show of stomping on his cigarette. 'Now you're getting hair in the blood! I swear, do you want to go to prison?' He crosses his arms over his chest in a manner which provokes a tight, teary smile from the other boy.

'Does that mean you have an idea?' He asks hopefully, propping himself up and out of the foetal position.

'Just let me think, okay? And stop leaving finger prints everywhere.' Mike quickly and pulls his hands into his lap.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Michael releases a smoky sigh. 'You're screwed man.'

'Seriously?!'

'Yeah, unless you, like, dissolve the body in acid or some–'

'Will it work?!' Mike asks, jumping to his feet.

'Dude, it was a joke–'

'But will it work?!' He presses, a spout of adrenaline hitting him.

'Maybe,' Michael pauses, 'I don't know.'

Mike's face lights up. 'Do you know where I can get the stuff?' He asks, feeling giddy.

'I think I know a place. But first, go home and get a suit bag and some cleaning supplies, not all the cops in this town are _completely_ retarded.'

On Mike's return, Michael makes quick work of shoving the corpse into the suit bag before throwing it aside, demanding that Mike start scrubbing the concrete clean. Once Michael deems the vampire's work satisfactory, they throw the supplies in a nearby garbage can and head off. Michael holds the head of the suit bag, rolled up in his hands to prevent leaking, and Mike holds the other end. Michael leads the way through the empty streets and into the woods.

The deeper they go the more anxious Mike gets. 'Ah, Michael?' He starts. 'We've been walking for ages, are you sure you know where we're going?'

'God, will you shut up fag! Of course I know where we're going. I don't have to help you, so just shut the fuck up and be grateful for once.' Michael snaps, turning his head slightly to glare at the other boy.

'O-okay! Geez, you don't have to get so snippy.' Mike mutters, trying to cover up his surprise at the sudden outburst.

Michael stops walking, 'You think I want to be an accessory to murder? I mean it when I say that you better be grateful, because I don't know any other conformist I'd do this for.' He says in an uncharacteristically serious tone.

Mike nods his head, not caring that the other can't see him, and they continue walking.

After another half-hour of manoeuvring through trees and various dirt paths, Michael spots a familiar sign: _South Park Genetic Engineering Ranch_.

'We're almost there, it's just up this hill.'

'Okay.'

As they reach the gate Michael drops his end of the body, going up to the little speaker on the fence and pushing the button under it. 'Hello, who is it?' A man's voice asks.

'Hey doc. It's Michael, the goth kid.'

There's a short pause. 'Oh, you're friends with that weird boy who's always asking about mutants and human experimentation. What can I do for you?'

'Yeah, my other friend wants to borrow some acid.'

'What kind of acid? I don't solicit drugs to minors.'

'The kind that can dissolve human flesh.'

'Well you've come to the right place. What you're looking for is hydrofluoric acid, that stuff is way too dangerous to lend out, but I'll allow you to dispose of whatever you need to on site.'

'That'll work, thanks.'

There's a loud buzz and the gate swings open. Michael makes a move to walk through it, but a hand on his arm stops him. 'Are you sure about this?' Mike asks.

'Of course I am, this guy's done crazier shit than this. Besides, what else can you do?'

Mike nods his head and they pick the bag back up, dragging it inside.

Dr Mephesto sets them up in a shed out the back of the lab, and helps them load the body into a metal barrel. Michael tells him what happened, much to Mike's horror, and Mephesto laughs and reminisces about similar things that he did in his youth. Things that make Mike uneasy. Once everything is done Mephesto leaves, telling them that the body will be gone in a few hour and they are both welcome to stay the night to watch over it.

The boys sit together on the shed floor in silence for an unmeasurable amount of time, just starring at the barrel and reflecting on the night, before Mike decides to speak up. 'I think I'm a bad person.' He says.

Michael turns his head to look at him, but the younger boy doesn't meet his gaze. 'Why? Because you killed someone?'

'No, because I don't feel bad about it.'

'Maybe you are a bad person, so what? There's nothing you can do about it.'

'It's easier for you to say, you're a good guy. You haven't killed anyone!' Mike yells, giving Michael a frantic look.

Michael's expression remains passive. 'You think I'm a good person? I just helped you cover up a murder, and guess what? I don't feel bad about it either.'

Mike doesn't reply, instead pulls his knees to his chest and looks down at his feet. He can't stop himself from shaking.

Michael lets out a frustrated sigh, making Mike look back up. 'And also, I was wrong. You aren't a poser. What you did tonight was pretty hard core.'

'Thanks,' Mike mumbles, smiling for the first time in hours. 'So what now?'

'What do you mean?'

'Does this make us friends? I mean, the suns coming up. You spent all night helping me with something that had nothing to do with you, just because I asked you to. We can't just go back to how things were.' Mike says, voice weak and pleading.

'I guess.' Michael replies. 'I mean, you aren't as bad as I thought you were.'

'Do you want to watch the sun rise with me?' Mike asks, turning to him with a grin.

Michael cringes but, after seeing Mike's expectant face, concedes. 'Fine, but then I'm going home. I need more cigarettes and some fucking coffee.'

It's a brand new day.

* * *

 **Extended Ending (Michael/Mike)**

'Do you want to watch the sun rise with me?' Mike asks, turning to him with a grin.

Michael cringes but, after seeing Mike's expectant face, concedes. 'Fine, but then I'm going home. I need more cigarettes and some fucking coffee.'

They stand next to each other in the lush, chemically enhanced grass, watching the red turn into yellow and waiting for it to eventually turn into blue. With last night's affair becoming a distance memory, they feel colour seep back into their worlds, and, for the first time in a long time, Michael doesn't mind it. Neither of them say anything as they watch the night disappear, and when Michael feels Mike's hand reaching for his, he doesn't resist. He knows how much what happened affected him, and how much the remaining memory is going to in the future. He's just relieved that the vampire didn't have to face the proper consequences. He still isn't sure why he was picked to help, but regardless he's glad. No matter how many differences they have, they're still more similar than most people, and the differences between them are the reason Michael finds himself smiling. He's covered in a stranger's blood and holding a vamp-kid's hand, and yet he can smile a genuine, happy smile. This is because sunrises are beautiful, and if it weren't for Mike and the atrocities of last night, he would never have realised it.

What happened will probably never be spoken of again, but that's okay. The ordeal will probably haunt both of their nightmares for the rest of their lives, but that's okay too. Because they're friends now, and they got to share an intimate and happy moment on the grass, embracing the calm after a storm. It's a new day, and they got to experience the transition together, only now truly grasping the meaning of it.

It's a brand fucking new day.


End file.
